


Consort

by Cytokiine



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Harems, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-20 21:29:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4802828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cytokiine/pseuds/Cytokiine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was sent as Delphi's tribute to Predaking's court, an unenviable fate defined by endless political skirmishes with the other consorts for their king's favor.</p>
<p>But First Aid has his own ideas about what he will make of his time at court, and none of them align with his designated role, much to the interest of the kingdom's spymaster.</p>
<p>Fairytale/Kingdom AU mixing multiple verses</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AptGoodTouch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AptGoodTouch/gifts).



 

There weren’t many things First Aid lamented in life. As a princeling of Delphi, he’d lived a privileged existence. True, Delphi wasn’t exactly _urbane_ , and as the youngest of seven siblings, he had no real chance at wielding any significant political power on his backwater planet. But he was comfortable in his niche. No one expected much from him, so for the most part, he’d been left to pursue his own interests. And these he’d pursued with magnesium-bright fervor. He devoured books like no other, mining every medical text he could find, modern or obscure. If governance was outside his purview, he would become the best royal medic Delphi had ever seen.

His family indulged his eccentricity, until it came time to put him to better use. Arranged marriage. Not something First Aid opposed in theory, and so removed from the throne, it was a very real likelihood he’d long considered. But this? This was a mistake.

_It is traditional_ , his family said, e _very kingdom sends one of theirs as tribute._

_It is stupid_ , he replied, _and I am the least suited for this task._

But he was also the most expendable. Which was how he found himself on a shuttle to Cybertron, Delphi’s offering to the Predacons.

It really was a monumentally ill thought out plan. Almost any one of his other siblings would have been a better match, the twins excluded. It fell to him because no one else wanted to do it. To become one of Predaking’s consorts was to commit oneself to a lifetime of sycophantic favor-currying. The Predacon was ancient, powerful, and unbelievably wealthy. A consort that gained his favor stood establish a genuine alliance between their kingdoms. Few consorts had managed the feat. This was the prize so many kingdoms sought after. This was the reason they promised their children to him.

It was a gamble with the worst possible odds- the most cutthroat game of political intrigue this side of the galaxy. Every kingdom played it different. Some sent their most attractive, some their most cunning. Competitive, desperate, they wagered their best offerings. Others, like his, sent their spares. Because as reluctant as they were to sacrifice one of their golden children to that fate, the lure was still too great to ignore entirely.

It left a bitter taste in his mouth, like soured energon.

_I wanted to be a doctor. Now I will only be part of a collection._

The trip from Messatine was long, but not long enough. All too soon, his shuttle was touching down in the spaceport. He stepped out, accompanied only by a small hovering diagnostic drone he’d built himself. The shuttle driver would depart as soon as he finished refueling and checking that all the craft’s systems were intact. His family hadn’t bothered to send an escort with him.

Fortunately, it seemed the Predacons had sent one of their own. As First Aid straightened and peered around the spaceport, his optics locked on a conspicuously still figure. A raptor-like Predacon with black plating and purple biolights. First Aid didn’t even try to hide the way he stared. He’d never seen a Predacon before, and their anatomy was fascinatingly exotic. Winged forearms, like the wing blades of a jet, bristled with plumage as black as their paint. These same, curious feathers adorned their head and neck, and clustered thickly at the tip of their sweeping tail. He wondered what they were made of. Their face, like his own, was concealed. A curved pane of glass obscured their features, though he could see the barest glimmer of fangs jutting just over the seam of their lower jaw. As he watched, they smiled, treating him to an unnerving view of the rest of their teeth. They moved then, slicing through the spaceport’s bustle as easily as one of his scalpels through mesh. He would have expected the oversized claws that graced their feet to click against the spaceport’s metal floor, but they made no sound. In fact, the Predacon was utterly silent, until they spoke. A clawed hand pressed to their chest as they dipped their head in respect.

“I am Soundwave. I have been sent to welcome you to Pythios and escort you to the court on behalf of the king.”

Soundwave’s voice had a strange quality to it- a subtle reverb that echoed. First Aid mirrored the Predacon’s gesture of greeting.

“I’m First Aid,” he said, “Though… you probably already knew that.”

“Yes,” Soundwave replied, “It is my business to know.”

“Do you escort all the consorts?”

“I do. It is one of my responsibilities.”

“Well, that sounds like an awful responsibility.”

“An interesting stance to take.”

“Not really. I mean, we’re all here for the same thing- to wed and bed your king. That doesn’t make for terribly fascinating conversation.”

“You do not seem excited about this prospect.”

First Aid shrugged.

“I’m not. I never wanted to come. But here I am.”

Soundwave made a soft chirr of interest. At least, it sounded like interest. He would really have to study Predacon culture while he was here. Perhaps Soundwave would know of some good resources for that.

“I have met consorts who are not eager to play their part, but most are not as straightforward about it as you,” Soundwave said. The Predacon turned and began walking as they spoke, leading him away from the spaceport. First Aid followed with his drone, who still hovered behind him.

“Are you going to report back to Predaking about this conversation?” First Aid asked.

“Naturally. It is my primary responsibility.”

First Aid squinted at them suspiciously. All this talk of responsibilities. He suspected his escort wasn’t simply a consort caretaker. They didn’t act or speak like a servant. In fact, this entire conversation, they’d been subtly probing for information.

“Who are you?” he asked.

Soundwave made a clicking sound. Amusement?

“I am Soundwave,” they replied.

First Aid huffed, annoyed by their flippant answer. So. They were the type to engage in word games. He restructured his question.

“What is your title, Soundwave? What do you do?”

A purring click this time.

“Ah, yes. I am this kingdom’s spymaster.”

It took a moment to process. He’d guessed Soundwave was involved with intel, but spymaster? First Aid was genuinely surprised.

“That doesn’t make sense,” he said after a few kliks of silence.

“Why?”

“You’re too important. Surely there’s someone less important, some subordinate agent who could do this job.”

“You will have direct access to the king. Escorting the consorts allows me to assess them before they ever make contact. It makes perfect sense for me to be the one to do this.”

He hadn’t thought of that. It really was logical in retrospect. But their current conversation wasn’t.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I do not deem you to be a threat.”

“I could be though,” First Aid insisted, somewhat disappointed that he’d spoken to Soundwave for all of a few minutes and already been dismissed.

“Should I reconsider my assessment?” Soundwave asked.

“Maybe! I’m a medic in training, or I was. I have some unusual mods.”

“Would you turn those mods on the king?”

“No,” First Aid replied, deflating slightly. Soundwave was right to dismiss him, he really wasn’t a threat. He wasn’t even a proper medic.

“Good. If you were a threat, I would have to imprison you and torture you for details on your motives,” Soundwave said. Their voice was deadpan.

First Aid swallowed nervously. It might’ve been a joke, but the Predacon seemed serious. His optics drifted from Soundwave’s fang tips down to their claws. Up close, they looked very, very sharp. How much use had they seen?

More of the purring clicks First Aid had come to associate with laughter poured from Soundwave’s vocalizer.

“You needn’t worry if you are not a traitor or a saboteur. I am glad to learn you are a medic. I had wondered about your drone.”

“Oh,” First Aid said, a little flustered now by Soundwave’s casual threat, “I built him myself. His name is Lancet.”

“Well, I hope that Lancet can keep up. We have a bit of a run ahead of us… or a drive, in your case.”

 

It turned out that Predacons didn’t much care for secondary transport. There was no fancy vehicle to ferry him the rest of the way from the spaceport to the castle, and Pythios was not a small kingdom. First Aid followed Soundwave in his alt form, Lancet tucked inside.

Soundwave was surprisingly fleet. Even when First Aid accelerated experimentally, the Predacon maintained their lead with no apparent difficulty. He wondered just how fast Soundwave could run as he slowed again, settling into a respectable speed. The drive was nice though. He took in the sights and sounds of the Predacon territory as he drove through it. It was ringed by mountains, not easily accessible to those who could not fly. In a way, it reminded him of Delphi, but Pythios inhabited a warmer clime than his nigh perpetually frozen city-state.

And then there was the castle itself. Huge, with swooping, ostentatious architecture befitting the mech who had commissioned it. Predaking’s castle was every bit as flashy as him, a testament to power and wealth. It was very impressive. It also felt a little overdone.

The consorts lived in their own, walled section of the castle grounds. Though they were free to come and go, most of them chose to remain cloistered there. An expansive central pleasure courtyard served as the primary setting for their political interactions. Soundwave led him through it, pointing out features of interest- such as Predaking’s garden –and giving the other consorts their first view of their newest member. First Aid felt their optics burning into his plating as he passed them, and instinctively moved a little closer to Soundwave.

When Soundwave finally guided him to his room, First Aid was glad to see that it was not as richly appointed as the rest of the castle. In fact, it was downright simple. Much more his style. He had a writing desk and a berth and not much else, though both were of good quality and his berth was made up with soft looking pillows and blankets. The room had plenty of floor space, inviting the addition of more furniture.

“Apologies if it is not what you are accustomed to. We prefer to let the consorts dictate the look of their living quarters. Think of it as a blank slate,” Soundwave said.

“No, this is perfect. I can work with this,” First Aid replied.

“If there is anything you can think of immediately that you require, let me know. Otherwise, write down a list of requests as they occur to you and leave it on your desk sealed in an envelope addressed to me.”

“Do you snoop through our rooms?” First Aid asked. He valued his privacy. Having someone intrude on his space did not sit well with him.

“Not personally. Not often.”

“So you send someone else to do it.”

“I have my agents and my duties.”

“Yes, oh spymaster.”

“For a mech so small, you are filled with much rancor.”

First Aid walked over to his berth and sat down, sinking into the mattress. He was tired. His journey here with Soundwave had been a nice distraction, but the reality of his situation was returning and dragging him back into his earlier sullenness. He was trapped here. It was a lavish life sentence, but a life sentence all the same. And now it seemed that he would be watched as well. Even this room wasn’t really his. He had no true sanctuary here.

The thought rankled.

He reached up and pulled Lancet into his arms, hugging the drone. Lancet beeped at him, petting his arms with his own, tiny clawed hands. First Aid vented softly and pulled himself back together. Soundwave was still in the room, waiting for him to voice his needs. He couldn’t unravel just yet.

“A bookshelf,” he said, looking up at the Predacon, “Big. I like to read, and I have books I’ve brought with me in subspace that need a place to go.”

“Noted. Is there anything else you require right now?”

“No. I’ll figure that out as I go. If there’s a market, I’d like to visit and pick things out myself.”

“That can be arranged. Let me know when you are ready.”

“I can find it on my own. I’m sure you have better things to do with your time than play tour guide to a new consort,” First Aid said.

“Let me know when you are ready,” Soundwave repeated. When First Aid didn’t respond, they dipped their head. “Predaking is presently occupied with matters of state. He will find you later, when he is no longer indisposed.”

“Got it.” First Aid made a face behind his visor. He couldn’t care less when Predaking showed up.

“It was good to meet you, First Aid. May you find your way in this court,” Soundwave said.

And then they were gone, a flicker of black in his vision. First Aid blinked, startled by Soundwave’s sudden departure. His optics must have glitched. There was no way a mech could move that swiftly. Venting louder, he let go of Lancet, sending the drone to shut his door while he took the opportunity to flop facedown into his pillows.

“What are we going to do?” he asked Lancet when he felt the drone settle next to him. A series of cheerful beeps was his reply.

First Aid offlined his optics, resolving not to move.

“Yeah. I guess I’ll have to see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was challenged by a friend to actually write for this fairytale/kingdom au that we came up with a couple nights ago, and I decided to take them up on their challenge because my brain really needed a break from outlining angsty stories. As such, this is my fluff outlet story, and it won't have a regular update schedule. 
> 
> Soundwave is a Predacon. Lots of other characters are also Predacons in this au. Will you meet them? It is a mystery. Boy, I sure do love Predacons.
> 
> As usual, tags and characters will be added as they become pertinent. There will be characters from a variety of verses, and I'll comment on those in future note sections. I can never play in just one verse.


	2. Chapter 2

Predaking did not come that night, cementing First Aid’s resolve to pay no mind to the consort games. He was new and, apparently, very low priority. He took the opportunity instead to recharge and ready himself psychologically for the next day.

Nothing could have fully prepared him.

Bright and early, he was awoken by a knock on his door. First Aid did a double take at the mech standing outside. Their frame was highly atypical. In a way, they reminded him of a Predacon with their animalistic features, and yet, he was fairly certain they were not one. When they introduced themselves, the pieces clicked into place.

“Greetings, brother,” the mech said with a sharp-toothed smile and a voice smoother than oil, “I am Steeljaw of Alchemor. I noticed you just moved in last night and wanted to stop by, give you a proper welcome to our merry court.”

“First Aid of Delphi,” he replied, cautiously extending a hand for them to shake. Steeljaw clasped it between their large, clawed ones.

“A pleasure to meet you. I hope that we can get along,” they said.

They were friendly. Far friendlier than First Aid had anticipated. It was that overfamiliarity that put him on edge, he decided. Steeljaw wanted something. The fact that they’d been the first to approach him said something.

“Yes, I hope so as well,” First Aid replied, “I would like to be on good terms with all the consorts.”

“Don’t expect to get on well with everyone. Some consorts just don’t play nice with others. But you seem like a reasonable mech.”

Steeljaw leaned against his doorframe, looking quite at home. Their tail swished back and forth. First Aid felt it brush his leg and resisted the immediate impulse to smack it away. Fortunately, he was spared the rudeness. Steeljaw suddenly went tense, ears flattening as their optics fixed on something behind him.

“Where’d you say you were from again, brother?” Steeljaw asked, though this time, all the honey was gone from their voice. Their demeanor was decidedly cooler.

First Aid ventured a look backwards. There was only Lancet, now awake and zooming over to him. First Aid looked back at Steeljaw. Something about the drone had put them off.

“Delphi,” First Aid said. Steeljaw’s optics narrowed a fraction.

“Pretty far away, isn’t it?”

“Alchemor is further.”

“So you’ve heard of us? Not many have. You’ve certainly done your research.”

“My knowledge of Alchemor is scant. I know where it is, and I know the colony that founded your kingdom was notorious for their unusual frames. If you are aware of any Alchemorian medical texts I might hunt down, I would very much like to read them.”

Steeljaw’s brow furrowed in thought for a moment, then their ears perked forward again.

“Ah, you are a medic?”

“In training,” First Aid affirmed.

“Pleased to hear it, brother,” Steeljaw said. And all their charm returned, as cloyingly thick as before. “I’m sure I can dig something up for you. Who’s your friend by the way?”

“Lancet,” First Aid said, glancing back at the little drone again. Lancet waved a cheerful hand.

“Diagnostic drone?”

“Yes.”

“What’s its AI like?”

“I was programmed with a learning AI, sir. My AI is fairly well developed at this point,” Lancet replied.

“He’s very smart,” First Aid said. He stared up at Steeljaw, daring the mech to say something. But Steeljaw only smiled, tail swishing idly.

“Nice to meet you too, little brother.”

It should have relaxed him, made him warm up to them. First Aid frequently made decisions about mechs on the basis of how they interacted with his drone. Those who were openly rude towards Lancet earned the cold shoulder. Those who tolerated or especially welcomed his presence, he viewed more favorably. But there was something about Steeljaw he just didn’t trust.

“We appreciate your welcome,” First Aid said, reaching for the door again. Steeljaw ignored the hint, lingering in his doorframe.

“Of course. It’s a rough world out there. We’ve gotta stick together.”

“Everyone is competing,” First Aid said, keeping his tone neutral.

“There is a certain hierarchy to the competition though. Learning who to side with can make or break your place here.”

First Aid’s plating prickled. There. Steeljaw’s purpose in approaching him. It wasn’t a welcome, but a threat. A threat, and if he wasn’t mistaken, an invitation as well.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said.

Steeljaw finally straightened. They extended a hand. First Aid looked down at it, at their claws curved so casually, but did not take it. After a moment, Steeljaw shrugged and retracted their hand.

“Think it over, brother. I’d hate to see you get hurt.”

Backing out of his doorway, Steeljaw turned and ambled away. First Aid watched the mech go, then shut his door and leaned against it. He vented slow and even, forehead pressed against the door.

“Friendly mech, huh?” he murmured to Lancet once he’d regained his composure. Lancet replied with his usual coded burst of spirited beeps. It was his preferred form of communication with First Aid when they were in private. Publically, they tended to avoid it. It gave people even more of an excuse to dismiss him as a sparkless construct. Which was technically true, but… Lancet had thoughts and emotions of his own. He wasn’t mindless. Speaking of which…

“Fairly well developed, huh? You’re selling yourself short again, Lancet.”

More beeps and a few slurred whistles. First Aid smiled.

“You’re still too modest.”

 

He couldn’t stay put in his room all day, nor did he particularly want to. He would have to venture out and meet the other consorts. Better that it be on his own terms instead of clandestine ambushes first thing in the morning. But he did want to make something of his time as well. Locating the royal library was top of his list, with the market a close second.

Soundwave had insisted on accompanying him. He suspected that even if he struck out on his own, the Predacon spymaster would find him, and he did not want to upset them so early on. Walking over to his desk, First Aid opened a drawer.

Pens and paper awaited his use. It was charmingly archaic. Most everyone had shifted over to datapads. But like his books, there was something satisfying about having a physical object in his grasp. He kept both traditionally bound volumes and digital ones in his personal library, depending on his mood and their publication date. Sitting down, First Aid pulled out a leaf of paper and began to write.

_I would like to visit the market today or tomorrow. Please track me down when you have time._

Brief and to the point. There was a great deal of blank space left though. After a moment of consideration, he added onto it.

_What can you tell me about Steeljaw?_

There. Something for Soundwave to puzzle over. An information request for the head of intel. First Aid did not know if Soundwave would humor him, but he found it satisfying to ask. If Soundwave or his agents were going to snoop through his room, he would snoop right back. Sealing his note in an envelope, he addressed it to Soundwave as requested and left it on his desk. He decided to leave Lancet behind as well to monitor his room, curious to see how Soundwave would retrieve the note.

The pleasure courtyard was the obvious first stop. Centralized and, he had to admit, beautiful. Especially the garden, from what little he’d glimpsed of it. Messatine was an organic planet despite its Cybertronian colonizers. It was nice to see that life here, albeit genetically modified to fit Cybertron’s scale. A strange indulgence for a king who’d lived his whole life on a cyberformed planet.

Once again, he felt the stares of all his fellow consorts as soon as he stepped into view. This time, he tried not to shrink as he walked among them.

It was a little overwhelming. He had no clue where to begin, or how. His older siblings would have known. They’d trained in this sort of thing. He had no natural feel for it. Should he approach a group, or wait to be approached? The first seemed too forward, too overconfident. The second left him standing awkwardly by himself, a very obvious outsider. But oh… he was already an outsider. They all knew it. It was just a matter of pretending otherwise.

… Perhaps he should skip this part, make a beeline for the inner castle and wander until he found someone who could direct him to the library? If he spent enough time holed up there, no one could possibly misconstrue him as a threat. Perhaps some of the consorts would warm up to him then. Perhaps he could make a few friends. He really only needed one or two.

He registered motion in the corner of his optic. First Aid turned his head to watch the approach of three seekers. They were all very similar in frame- they could have been sparked triplets, if not for the fact that no kingdom would send such a trio as tribute. Somehow, they’d found each other here, and from the look of it, they had a well-established alliance. Quite possibly, they were even trinemates.

Their leader lacked the false warmth of Steeljaw, which they made up for with no shortage of condescension as they addressed him.

“A smaller consort I’ve never seen. Even for a provincial kingdom like Delphi, this is a new level of apathy. How shameful.”

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” First Aid said politely, side stepping the seeker’s bait.

“Starscream, of Crystal City. You’ll want to remember the name,” Starscream sneered. And despite their open hostility, First Aid brightened.

“Oh! Crystal City, you are so fortunate! Even the royal family is involved with scientific research, aren’t they? Did you have a focus, or were your studies strictly political?”

It was clearly not the response Starscream had expected. They looked genuinely taken aback for a moment by his enthusiasm.

“I’ve dabbled,” Starscream replied, optics narrowing again as they regained their haughty composure.

“Medic sparks run in my family, but we aren’t encouraged to pursue it like Crystal City’s royalty. I’m a little envious. Do you still practice?” First Aid asked, pressing on.

“No. That was my old life. There is no place for it here.” Starscream’s hand went to their hip as they stared imperiously down at him. Perhaps it was his imagination, but he thought he caught a trace of bitterness in Starscream’s voice.

“That’s too bad. It’s your legacy.”

“I’m making my own legacy.”

“Well, I won’t get in your way.”

Starscream seemed thrown again, but only for a sparkbeat. Their recovery was fluid enough that if he’d blinked, he would have missed that flicker of hesitation. Starscream’s sneer shifted to a calculating smile.

“Is that so? A wise decision on your part.”

Time to disengage. It was clear Starscream was an aggressive player. Crystal City had sent no slouch, and since Starscream seemed intent on leaving their scientific heritage in the past, First Aid had no reason to maintain contact. They were, after all, irredeemably supercilious. Starscream reminded him a great deal of his eldest brother, who he made a point of avoiding. They were even both jets.

First Aid adopted a falsely cheery tone in lieu of his earlier, genuine excitement. Best to wrap things up on the same note he’d started on.

“Any tips for traversing this Insecticon hive of a court, from one consort to another?”

“Yes. Don’t get above yourself.”

“My ambitions aren’t so lofty. I’m not a seeker, after all. Not like you and…?”

First Aid glanced at the other two, who still hadn’t introduced themselves. Starscream also glanced over their shoulder.

“Skywarp of Vos, and Thundercracker of some colony planet even more hopelessly rural than Messatine. It’s organic too, isn’t it? I can never remember the name. It doesn’t particularly matter.”

“Canis Alter,” Thundercracker said.

“Yes, that. Completely unmemorable. But I suppose it just goes to show that even the most unremarkable kingdoms can produce tributes of quality if they really set their processors to it.”

Starscream looked back at First Aid with significance. Whether the seeker intended it as an insult or a reevaluation of his worth was unclear. Regardless, First Aid was done with the conversation. He’d had his fill of it.

“Well, good to meet the three of you. I’m sure we’ll run into each other again,” he said, inclining his head respectfully. When he raised his optics again, Starscream looked pleased.

“It’s a small court,” the seeker said, then motioning for Skywarp and Thundercracker to follow, they strode away.

Feeling himself beginning to weave on his feet in their absence, First Aid turned with purpose towards Predaking’s garden and set a direct course for it. Returning to his room felt too much like a retreat, but he needed a quiet place to hide and process for a bit. Given most Cybertronians’ aversion to organic life, he figured it was a relatively safe bet.

There were few mechs strolling around the exterior of the garden, but the deeper he went, the fewer people he saw. The garden itself was constructed to offer privacy. Beautifully landscaped flowering bushes stretched above his head, lining winding pathways that occasionally opened up onto pockets of space harboring smaller gardens with more specialized collections of flora. It was easy to get lost here, surrounded by a vibrant, perfumed maze. He’d never seen so much green in one place. It overwhelmed the senses.

He felt a little dizzy by the time he stumbled upon another open space, guided by the sound of running water. Stretching out in the grass and closing his optics for a bit sounded good. To his surprise and disappointment, however, the space was already occupied. First Aid stood in the leafy archway, peering through it at the mech who sat cross legged in the sunshine facing the burbling fountain at the center of the small sub garden. Their optics were closed, and their hands rested palm up on their knees. They seemed to be meditating.

He wouldn’t intrude, although it seemed like a nice spot. Bushes of thorny stemmed flowers with a sweet and heavy scent ringed the edges of the garden. They came in a variety of colors. Such phenotypic diversity. He would have to learn what they were called.

Just as First Aid made up his mind to leave, the strange mech opened their optics and turned their head to smile at him.

“Hello! I usually don’t see anyone other than the gardeners or Predaking this far in. In fact, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you. Are you the new consort?”

“Yes,” First Aid replied, not sure if he should still leave, but the mech patted the grass beside them invitingly, laying that question to rest. First Aid joined them, a little hesitant after his earlier encounters with other consorts. This one seemed different though.

“My name is Drift,” they said by way of introduction. Yes, Drift was definitely different. Everyone else had seemed so keen to declare their royal bloodline.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“Does it matter?” Drift countered, “I am of this kingdom now.”

They certainly looked the part. Two, slightly curved horns framed the sides of their helm. Their hands tapered to clawed points, and when they smiled, First Aid could see the tips of fangs. Yet they did not seem to be a Predacon. Rather, Drift appeared to have adopted certain feature modifications.

“No, I suppose it doesn’t really matter,” First Aid conceded.

“So who are you?”

“First Aid.”

“And where are you from, First Aid?”

“Did we not just establish the unimportance of that information?”

Drift laughed.

“With you I’m afraid it does matter, being so new to Pythios. Everyone will want to know what to make of you, whether they should consider you an adversary, solicit you as an ally, or assure themselves of your unimportance. There are a number of factors that go into these labels, and bloodline is one of them.”

“For what it’s worth then, I’m the seventh prince of Delphi.”

“Delphi… you’re a long way from home. Do you miss it?”

“Some parts of it. Others, not so much.”

“What do you miss most?”

“Two of my brothers. The three of us stuck together as the youngest of our siblings. We were close.”

“Leaving people behind can be difficult. Especially leaving people behind for Pythios.”

“Did you leave anyone behind?”

“Everyone leaves someone behind.”

It was a strange conversational note to continue on, so First Aid said nothing. They both sat in silence for a moment before Drift spoke up again.

“Rodion. I am the second prince of Rodion.”

“Ah, the medic Ratchet once had a clinic in Rodion, didn’t he?”

“Yes. Our kingdom was once very poor. His clinic was run in a district known as the Dead End. A pity service for a pitiful people.”

“That’s not the case now though.”

“No. We are financially secure, and Ratchet has moved on.”

“Well, it’s good your kingdom is more prosperous now. I hope it continues to prosper,” First Aid said.

“So do I,” Drift said, “Though I’m fairly confident it will.”

First Aid had to marvel a little at his confidence. He seemed so relaxed, so in control of himself. He wondered how long Drift had been here. But it felt rude to ask, and he wasn’t sure Drift would answer him anyways.

“Why are you here?” he finally inquired.

“That’s a broad question. Care to narrow it down a bit?”

“Why are you here in this garden?”

“I’m meditating, but somehow I doubt that’s what you’re asking,” Drift replied. First Aid shook his head.

“You told me you don’t often see the other consorts here. To be honest, I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“There’s your answer. This part of the courtyard is almost always peaceful. It’s an escape, and I’ve come to appreciate its unique beauty.”

First Aid felt his chest warm at Drift’s words. He sensed a kindred spark in Drift. Perhaps he was someone he could befriend. Instead of feeling claustrophobic, First Aid wanted to stay and talk to him, get to know him better.

“What about you?” Drift asked.

“I’m here for similar reasons. I found myself overwhelmed by the politicking and came here to escape.”

“Ah, yes. You know, you can’t outrun it forever.”

“I can try.”

“You’ll have to engage at some point.”

“What if I don’t want to do that?” First Aid asked, leaning back.

“What do you mean?”

“Just that. What if I don’t want to do this whole consort thing?”

“Your family sent you for a reason.”

“Not really. I’m the extra.”

“That happens. It does not mean that you are worthless though, First Aid. I think you have much more to offer than you believe.”

“How would you know? We barely just met.”

Drift smiled.

“Your aura is very warm and kind. You have a beautiful spark. It will shine through for those who matter.”

First Aid stared at Drift, nonplussed. His aura was… what? Just _what_ was this mech talking about? Drift’s expression grew wry as silence stretched between them.

“A skeptic, I see. Well, just take my word for it then.”

“I- but auras, _really_?”

“There are stranger things in this universe. Keep an open processor to the possibilities.”

“I- … hmm…” First Aid said, deciding not to voice his opinions.

“Now you think I’m strange,” Drift said, venting air softly.

“Everyone has their eccentricities.”

“Eccentric. That’s a diplomatic adjective.”

“Fine. Yes, I find you strange. But I have since I first saw you here.”

“And? What’s your takeaway from all this?”

“That I think you are still someone I would like to get to know, perhaps,” First Aid replied.

Drift brightened.

“Good. I came to the same conclusion.”

First Aid vented. It felt like he’d just passed some test. The sense of urgency that had begun to build during their exchange evaporated, and with it, some of his energy. He finally indulged his earlier desire to sprawl on his back in the grass, optics shuttered to the sunlight. After a moment, and to his surprise, he felt Drift lie down next to him.

“You’re a medic, aren’t you? Your colors would suggest as much, but you lack the usual crosses.”

“I’m self-taught. I’m not licensed though, so it didn’t feel right to claim them. Especially now.”

“You could train here. Consorts aren’t prohibited from working, although most treat this as their job.”

First Aid opened his optics and glanced over at Drift, who watched him. Drift gave him an encouraging look.

“Really? That’s an option?” First Aid asked, a glimmer of hope igniting his spark.

“It’s a difficult route for a consort to take. Less time spent at court means less potential interaction with the king.”

“No, that sounds perfect! I want to do that!” he exclaimed, turning over onto his side.

Drift looked bemused by his enthusiasm.

“It is another route, not an alternative. I would encourage you to find balance.”

“Why are you so insistent that I participate? I would think you’d be glad not to have the extra competition.”

“Oh, you’re not much competition.”

First Aid frowned, roused by a flash of contrariness.

“I could be,” he said.”

“Yes you could, if you put your mind to it.”

First Aid frowned harder.

“I don’t get you.”

“You will. This is only our first conversation, after all.”

Their first, not their last. First Aid’s irritation smoothed away in an instant. Primus only knew why Drift wanted to keep talking to him, but it excited him that he did.

“By all means though, if you think you can somehow avoid court intrigue, give it your best shot. I’d be interested to see you try. Could be fun.”

“Well, that’s very reassuring to hear.”

“The most reassuring thing you’ll hear,” Drift teased.

First Aid rolled onto his back and draped a hand over his visor, groaning quietly. His first potential ally here, and Drift regarded his ambitions with amusement. Well, he’d show him. He’d prove his worth through other means. He would become an asset to Pythios, and not by servicing the king in his berth.

He just had to make it through today. And the next day. And the day after that…

Beside him, Drift chuckled.

 

He spent a while longer with the other consort, idling in the garden until the shadows grew long and began to creep over them. Drift excused himself first, leaving First Aid to wander the green maze on his own before he finally decided it was time to return to his room and Lancet. He’d left the drone alone for many hours and felt guilty for it. His room wasn’t very interesting, and Lancet was inquisitive like himself. But he hadn’t intended to be gone for so long.

Opening his door, First Aid stopped short at the sight of a massive Predacon standing in the middle of his room with his back to him. His spark guttered as he recognized him from images- Predaking, his entire reason for being here. First Aid stepped through and closed the door behind him very slowly as Predaking turned around, golden optics fixing on him.

“So you are First Aid, Delphi’s tribute,” he said as he crossed his arms behind his back and looked him over. First Aid felt his face heat slightly under his inspection. His voice was low and smooth. Beautiful. It suited him well. Very well. _Primus_. The pictures really did so little to convey the full majesty of his presence.

“I’m sorry, were you here very long?” First Aid asked. Predaking tilted his head.

 “No. I just arrived. I was examining your drone.”

First Aid peered past him at Lancet, who still waited where he’d left him.

“Lancet, you can say hello,” he said. Lancet beeped and zoomed over, rubbing his hands together self-consciously. Well, it seemed he wasn’t the only one Predaking had an effect on.

“I did come to see you,” Predaking said. His optics didn’t shift from First Aid, even as Lancet joined him. First Aid ducked his head slightly. He wished he would look away, if just for a moment.

“Oh, ah, what for?”

“It is customary for me to greet my new consorts the first night they arrive. I was held up by matters of state yesterday and much of today, so I am overdue. You have my apologies.”

“It’s really no trouble,” First Aid said, raising his hands and shaking his head, “I know you’re a busy mech. You are a king, after all. You have many more important things to attend to!”

“The importance of this tradition should not be understated,” Predaking replied, “As you say, I am busy. I must be strategic with my time. However, in accordance with custom, you have my full attention for one night. During this time, you may make any request of me, within reason of course.”

“Of course…”

He felt a little faint as he considered Predaking’s words. Any request. Any reasonable request. What was considered reasonable? As he squirmed internally under the weight of Predaking’s gaze, he suspected he knew what most consorts asked for. It was a prime opportunity to get his attention in _that_ way. In fact, standing there in front of him, fully appreciative of the polished glint of his armor and the sheer width of his frame, First Aid was more than a little tempted to go back on his own convictions and make that same request. Predaking was unfairly well built.

First Aid mentally slapped himself. No. He wasn’t here for this. He could make much better use of his request.

“Would you like to sit down? I’m sorry, my room is still very bare right now. I’m working on it.”

He gestured towards the berth, as his desk chair seemed a little small for Predaking. The mattress sunk under Predaking’s weight as he settled on it, and First Aid consciously stilled his fans. Even sitting, Predaking was taller than him.

“Will you not join me?” Predaking asked.

“I have a chair,” First Aid replied with forced brightness as he pulled it up and sat down across from him. Predaking raised an optic ridge.

“So, what is your request?”

“Bear with me, it might sound a bit indulgent.”

“Ask.”

Predaking watched, anticipation in his gold optics. First Aid steadied himself. No changing his mind last second.

“I want to train as a medic. Drift said I could do that. Train. Work. If you could connect me with a teacher, I would greatly appreciate it.”

Whatever Predaking had been expecting, it wasn’t that. He looked visibly surprised for all of a klick before he regained himself, optic ridges furrowing.

“That is your request?”

“Is it reasonable?”

“Very, but… unexpected.”

“As I said, it’s indulgent. I never had the opportunity back home, so when I learned I could do it here, I knew I just had to find a teacher.”

“You are not obligated to work, you know. Though I cannot spare time for all my consorts, I do see that their other needs are met.”

“I want to,” First Aid said, voice firm. In this, he would not be swayed. Predaking watched him for a few moments longer, then nodded.

“I will assign someone to teach you, although they may not be a medic in the traditional sense. Our race does not spark healers the way yours does.”

“You don’t have medics?” First Aid asked, optics going wide. It was a baffling idea. How could an entire race lack for healers?

“Predacons were sparked to conquer. We are warriors: powerful, durable, and ferocious in combat. That is our ancestral legacy.”

“But what do you do when you get hurt? When you are sick?”

“Predacon biology is much more resilient. It is more difficult to injure us, and even when we are injured, it takes much more to incapacitate us. Our nanites heal more quickly and efficiently than yours. For everything else, our scientists are sufficient.”

“A scientist is not a medic,” First Aid insisted.

“Do you consider yourself a scientist?”

“Well, yes…”

“Then a scientist will have to suffice for now. I will look into finding a foreign medic to teach you.”

A Predacon scientist. If Predacons did not spark medics because their race had no evolutionary niche for them, then their scientists must be as fierce as any one of them. First Aid wondered what his teacher would be like. Hopefully they would be patient. He’d made forays into other fields of study- he’d taught himself rudimentary engineering and AI programming in order to build Lancet, for example –but medicine was his primary focus. If the scope of his teacher’s work did not include biology, First Aid would have to work hard to bring himself up to speed.

It was exciting to think about though. This too was not something he’d had much opportunity to learn. He could hardly imagine getting to work in a proper lab instead of some space he’d rigged up in a spare room with a haphazard collection of instruments.

“Is that all?”

Predaking’s voice brought him back from his flight of fancy. First Aid cycled his optics, refocusing on the king.

“What?”

“Is that your only request?”

“Oh. I didn’t know I got more than one.”

“I was late in welcoming you to my kingdom. If you have something else you would like to ask of me, I will hear it.”

Another request. Now he really had to resist the impulse to squirm in his seat. He had no idea what to ask for, and Predaking was pinning him with his heavy, golden gaze again. First Aid laced his fingers together to keep them from fidgeting in his lap.

“Um, this will also sound very indulgent but… could I possibly save my second request for later?”

Predaking’s optics narrowed slightly.

“That is not customary.”

First Aid dropped his gaze to his lap, hunching his shoulders slightly.

“Sorry, forget it then. I don’t really know what to ask for so… just talk to me for a bit, I guess? Tell me about Pythios.”

He heard Predaking shift and looked up. The king had slid a little closer, more towards the edge of the bed. He too now hunched forward. His expression was curious.

“You could easily read about Pythios. Soundwave informs me that your first furniture request was a bookshelf.”

So Soundwave was already reporting back to him. First Aid swallowed. He’d assumed Predaking hadn’t bothered to learn anything about him yet. After all, he’d been busy until now. But he knew more than he’d expected, and it made him nervous.

“Well, I could, and I probably will, but I’d like to hear about it from your perspective as its king. That’s not something I’m going to find in a book,” First Aid explained.

“Hmm…” Predaking mused. His optics narrowed again, though this time in thought. “What is it you would like to know?” he finally asked.

“Its history, how it was founded, its values. How would you describe its character? What do you love best about your kingdom? How would you see it improve?”

“You have many questions. They will take time to answer.”

“Well, isn’t time the greatest gift you offer consorts on their first night?”

“It is,” Predaking purred. He patted the mattress beside him, “But if I am to talk at length, I would prefer to have you closer. We are too formal.”

He almost refused, but he feared that if he spoke, his voice would emerge as a squeak and give him away. So First Aid stood without a word and settled next to him on the berth. He left a sliver of space between them, though he could feel the heat radiating off of Predaking’s frame as if they were touching. And it would be so easy to touch him. It would be much harder to stop.

Slag, why did he have to be his type?

But he managed to resist, somehow. Even when Predaking reclined on his berth, clearly inviting him to lie down with him. He stuck to his convictions and his spot on the berth, asking his questions and listening to Predaking reply in his velvety way. And if his optics occasionally wandered from Predaking’s face to the burnished expanse of his chest, well, his visor and faceplate concealed his interest.

It gave him plenty to reflect on in private once Predaking left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I joked to a friend that I'd clarify my euphemistic use of the phrase "reflect in private" at the end of this chapter but
> 
> I mean. It's a euphemism. First Aid is reflecting real hard on Predaking's sweet sweet bod. With a false spike. Boy knows what he's about.
> 
> Anyways. Quick note on pronouns. You'll notice singular they used quite a lot. This is because First Aid does not assume gender upon meeting someone new. When gender is established, the appropriate pronoun is used (as you observed with Drift after he self described as a Prince). I do this in part because of how gender is treated in IDW, specifically MTMTE. I don't want to go into too much detail here, but apologies if it is a bit jarring! A lot of this will get sorted out in the next chapter.
> 
> Speaking of Drift though. IDW Drift! He's been in Pythios so long, he's gotten himself some Predacon mods. You'll be seeing a lot more of him. A lot more. 
> 
> The seeker trio are... kind of complicated? Sort of a Prime/IDW mishmash. Think Prime Starscream though. I gave him Crystal City as an homage to his dubious scientific history in a few different continuities.
> 
> Steeljaw is Steeljaw.


End file.
